Nexus, or
by Cap'n Clueless
Summary: Seven Friends Steve Rogers Makes When He Wakes Up. How the Avengers became Friends, from Cap's perspective. Platonic goodness. Slight pre-ShieldShock (Starcy) if you squint. Which I do, as it happens. Also bittersweet Steggy feels, but Peggy has no Alzheimer's because my feels cannot deal with that.
1. Hill and Fury

Nexus,

or

Seven Friends Steve Rogers Makes When He Wakes Up (And One Love of His Life)

* * *

1\. Hill and Fury

He wakes up a week before aliens invade.

Apparently, it had been the World Security Council responsible for the decision to pretend that Steve had woken up in the '40s. Given Fury's tone as he whispered – soft enough that no ordinary unenhanced human could have heard it – to the Commander about "You owe me ten bucks about the Council's stupid-ass decision", Steve was inclined to believe it.

Steve cleared his throat. Fury looked a little startled, then comprehending.

"Once again, Captain, my apologies for the…" Fury searched for the appropriate word. Steve supplied one.

"The TARFU?" That won the ghost of a smile from both Hill and Fury. "Apology accepted."

Steve felt shock being replaced by the strange, surreal calm that he always felt in a fight.

There would be time to fall apart once he got the basics settled. _Survive, Rogers. Then grieve._

"So, seeing as I've been legally dead for the past sixty-seven years. What happens now?"

Fury looked at Hill, gesturing her forward.

"There's an apartment waiting for you in Midtown, fully furnished and set up," she said. "Under the alias of Grant Jones, complete with an interim identity. I'll get an Agent to do some grocery shopping, so we don't have to introduce you to supermarkets today." She paused, making eye contact.

He nodded: _continue_.

"Your bank account should be reopened under your true name within the week, and with all your backpay from the past seventy years deposited on it, adjusted for missing in action benefits, of course. As soon as that's done, I'll have a driver's licence waiting for you, along with a bank card, Metro Card, passport, and so on, in your true name. In the meantime, Grant Jones has a motorcycle licence and a Metro Card, as well."

Steve remembered his last pay-check, did some quick mental math, and then blinked.

"How did you swing the backpay?" he asked her.

There was a definite smirk on her face. "I called in a favour. Or two," she said with a shrug.

He smiled back at her, a little touched by the amount of effort that had clearly gone into taking care of him. "Thank you."

The smile softened; steel blue eyes looked almost gentle for a moment. "Captain Fury and Lieutenant Hill of the Army Rangers, prior to S.H.I.E.L.D, Captain. We take care of our own."

 _The thing that, more than anything else, the Commandos had understood._

 _Each man sacrificing a share of the ration so that Cap didn't faint in the middle of a battle._

 _Giving Jim Morita his last pair of clean socks, so that the smaller man wouldn't develop trench foot, with no serum to combat it._

 _Gabe Jones chivvying at Bucky to "hush and take the damn aspirin, Sarge, before I make Jim telegram your mama."_

 _Bucky attacking Steve with a comb. "Stevie, you've gotta look the best for your date with Agent!"_

" _Buck, so help me God, if you call the briefing a date one more time–"_

" _Stevie's got a girlfriend! Stevie's got a girlfriend!" Bucky taunted, dodging Steve's punch._

He felt a lump in his throat, and Fury coughed. "A couple more things. We thought you'd appreciate this back," withdrawing something from his long-coat. The lump grew bigger, as Steve recognised his sketchbook that he'd left in his pack just a few days

 _seventy years ––_

ago.

"Thanks," he said, reaching to take it. Fury handed it over, and then opened a drawer from the desk.

He withdrew a large, elegant deep brown case with the words _Caran D'Ache_ inscribed in gold across it.

"A measure of our gratitude. From the senior Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D," Fury said. Steve opened the box, and ran his hands over the pencils inside them reverently. The colour range was _incredible_.

They stood there for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. Then Steve closed the box.

"Could I go to the apartment now, please?"

Commander Hill nodded, pulling the shiny little rectangle out of her pocket and tapping on it.

"I'll ride with you. I'm heading that way anyway," she said. Steve opened his mouth to say that it wasn't necessary, and found himself silenced by a pair of steely blue eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, instead.

* * *

TARFU stands for Totally and Royally #$ed up.

I can't buy Fury being stupid enough to fake that room at the end, and not even get the game right. So, World Security Council it is. They're stupid enough in-universe, it makes sense.

I don't ship Hill and Fury, but I think they do work as a unit. If you're friends with one, you're probably friends with the other. They're basically like a male-female version of Those Two Guys, which is why Steve sees them as one unit.


	2. Tony

2\. Tony

"Let's just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma?" Steve couldn't help the smile spreading across his face as Stark spoke. "There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it."

"We're not finished yet," Thor said, a little grimly. Steve closed his eyes briefly. _That's right. Still have to get Loki._

Stark came to the same realisation. "And then shawarma after?"

Thor offered Steve and Tony a hand each, hauling them both to their feet simultaneously.

"Shawarma after," Steve said with a sigh, before thinking. Loki. Right. Where had he gotten to? "Agent Romanov? Where's Loki?"

"In Stark's penthouse," she said. "Hulk beat him up pretty nicely. Also, I think after an invading alien army, we can use first names. Let's go with Natasha."

"Then it's Steve. Barton? I don't actually know your first name. Status?"

A groan over the comm. "Clint. I'm gonna need a hand. I crashed through a window. Think I've twisted an ankle. Besides that, no injuries."

"Noted," Steve said, chewing on his lip with thought. He glanced at Sta– no, _Tony_. "Suit still have power?"

"Back to power. That said, I'm not sure about my ability to take a passenger right now. Y'know, what with the aerial ballet with the missile," Tony admitted, looking irritated with himself at the fact. Or maybe for having to get vulnerable enough to admit it.

Because it was completely unreasonable to want to stay on the ground after diverting a _nuclear warhead_ into an _alien portal_.

"Alright. Thor, fly up to Barton's roof – it's eight blocks south of here, head along that street. Then take him to Stark Tower. Careful with the landing. If you see Hulk along the way, tell him to meet us at the penthouse," Steve said, pointing. Thor nodded and started whirling Mjolnir.

Steve turned to Tony. "How far is the walk from here?"

Tony sighed. "Ten minutes, maybe? I don't usually walk. The whole thing about being a –"

"Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist," Steve finished, with a lopsided smirk. "Too bad we can't call a cab."

Tony snorted, and swayed slightly on his feet. Steve slipped an arm around his waist and threw Tony's gauntleted arm over his shoulder.

"Cap, really? My thing for blondes is well-documented, but I thought you'd buy a guy dinner first," Tony said, the flash of gratitude in his eyes at odds with the smirk on his face. But that was how Tony rolled. Much like another brunet with a perpetual smirk on his face Steve had known.

He pushed that last thought aside, along with the ache in his heart. _Not relevant._

"Alien to terrify first. Then we'll talk dinner."

"Mm. Alien. Then shawarma. Then you can crash at mine."

Steve quirked a brow. "Y'know, SHIELD set me up with a place. Pretty near here, too."

Tony waved a hand. "Details. You might have a place, but Banner doesn't. Let's not even get into Tall, Blond and Asgardian. Team should look after its own, right? If the Tower's shattered too much, we'll just buy a hotel for the night or something. Or maybe I have another house in the New York area."

Steve blinked at the monologue, registered the extravagance of _buying a hotel for the night for seven people_ , and then decided that for once in his life, he'd pick his battle. "Thanks. You're right, about the team thing, I mean. I'm not sure about buying a hotel for the night. Now c'mon, let's go get the bastard."

"I won't tell Thor you said that if you won't," Natasha snickered.

"Awesome. Now gimme your cell phone, Cap, I wanna programme J.A.R.V.I.S into it," Tony said, holding out his free hand. There was a bit more colour returning to his face, Steve noted.

"I don't have a cell phone, Tony," he returned.

Tony's look of pure incredulity made him lose the plot entirely, going into a fit of laughter that had him struggling to support the other man's weight properly.

"Jesus Christ, Steve, are you _laughing_?" Tony's hair was all but standing up from his incredulity now mixed with horror. It only made Steve crack up even harder, as he scooped Tony up – it was just easier to carry him, suit and all, he realised, and yet another time, he blessed Doctor Erskine's serum – and Tony promptly began running his mouth.

He wasn't thrashing, though, or just blasting out of Steve's arms, so Steve chose to take that as tacit consent. "I demand dinner first! At the _least_ we should get coffee! And since when can you _laugh_?"


	3. Clint

3\. Clint

"Do you have everything?" Clint asked quietly, as Steve came to beside him to say goodbye to Thor.

"Yep," Steve said, popping the 'p.' He just couldn't muster any surprise at Clint (or Natasha, for that matter) knowing about his plans.

"Toothbrush? ID? Money?"

Steve threw him an exasperated look. "Hill set me up with a new ID, and I was the one who requisitioned all of the Howlies' equipment. I think I'm good to go."

Clint nodded. "Hill's thorough. Bet you don't have her number, though."

"Nope," Steve affirmed, with another nod. The Commander hadn't offered, and he hadn't asked. Everyone deserved their down time, especially someone who was trying to ride herd on _Director Fury._

The archer procured a sleek, silver device out of nowhere.

"For you," Clint said, flipping it open.

Steve frowned. "I have a phone," he said. That had been Tony's first action after herding the newly-formed Avengers to a nearby hotel, to hand Steve a shiny new Stark-phone.

"Burner phone," Clint said, flipping it open to demonstrate. "It calls me and nobody else, my number is the only one programmed into it. If you want to contact Natasha, text me, and _she'll_ contact you on it. Everyone else uses your regular phone."

"How will I know it's her?" Steve asked.

Clint's smirk was a touch rueful, and Steve wasn't sure if he wanted all of the details behind that or none of them. "Trust me. You'll know."

Steve smiled at him. "I trust you." On impulse, he clapped a hand on Clint's shoulder. "I know Natasha's going to be taking care of you, but if you need to talk, or something – call me, alright?"

Clint smiled, and the effect was transformative.

"Enjoy your road trip, Steve," Clint said, nodding at Thor when the Asgardian prince turned and gave him a deep nod, almost a bow. Steve did the same.

Bright blue blazed, and Thor and Loki had vanished.

"I think I will," Steve replied.


	4. Natasha

4.Natasha

Steve isn't entirely sure when or how he promised Thor to check up on his "beloved Jane and her lightning sister Darcy". Probably right around the time Thor had given him a truly incredible pair of puppy-dog eyes.

That said, though, Steve didn't put up a fight. It was the least he could do for Thor to check in on his girl and her family.

It was about a week after he left New York, when he checked into the motel in Raleigh, North Carolina for the night – that he realised he had none of the information he needed.

Where did Darcy and Jane live at the moment? What had happened to Erik Selvig anyway? How exactly could he show up without this seeming like an incredibly creepy move? _Oh, hi, my name's Steve, Thor sent me to check everything was alright. No, sorry, he's not here, he's gone back to Asgard, he had to escort Loki home, can't put the Tesseract in the hands of a war criminal. Not again, anyway_.

Yeah. _That_ would go well.

He tossed his bag onto the bed, and thought about it for the moment, before his eyes hit the silver flip-phone that Clint had given him.

Clint and Natasha were spies, assassins and all-round masters of espionage. So by that logic…yes, that'd work.

 _Would they mind, though_? He didn't want to interrupt anything. And clearly they needed their time off as much as he did.

 _They're adults. If they mind, they can tell me to go away, and that'll be that,_ his reason argued.

He flipped the phone open, and dialled the number.

"Hey, Clint?" he asked.

"Steve!" came Natasha's voice, instead of Clint's. "To what do we owe the honour?"

"Uh, Clint gave me this phone. Told me to call if I needed something."

"Which is?" Natasha asked, voice not betraying a hint of surprise or concern.

"Thor asked me to check in on Jane Foster and her assistant, and I agreed, because I was going on a road-trip anyway, and I just realised – I don't actually know where they are."

"Ah," Natasha said. There was a long pause, and then she spoke again. "Wimberley, Texas. It's Darcy's hometown. They went there as soon as they could get out of Norway. They're staying with her grandmother. I'll text you the address."

"Thanks. Any idea how I can make this _not_ – I think the word these days is 'creepy'?"

Natasha laughed, genuine amusement carrying through the tinny speaker.

"You're sweet," she chuckled. Steve couldn't help but give an answering smile. "But seeing as you're Captain America, they won't think it's creepy. Well, probably."

"Natasha, that's not true at all," he said.

"No?"

Steve sighed. Of all people, Black Widow should get this, right? "Captain America would never swear, smoke, or drink. Steve Rogers, on the other hand, swears a blue streak when he feels the need, still carries a pack of Camels, and cleaned up $400 in a bar the other night by drinking seven shots in under two minutes with zero signs of intoxication."

Natasha lost all composure. He could actually hear the tears of laughter in her voice over the speaker.

"What's your point?" she asked, finally, when she'd gotten her laughter under control.

"Captain America could never be mistaken for a creep. Steve Rogers _cannot talk to women_. They're going to think I'm a creep," he pronounced his doom into the speaker.

Natasha, the traitor, just laughed even harder. There was the muffled sound of an explosion.

"Damn. _Children_ , I swear. I have to go. Talk to you later, Steve," she said.

"Call me if you need me," he told her.

"I will," she assured him, before hanging up.

Steve closed the phone, a warm feeling like gratitude washing over him. Yeah, it had taken an alien invasion to bring them together, but he had a _fantastic_ team.


	5. Darcy

5\. Darcy

After that, he headed straight to Wimberly, stopping only in New Orleans. It had been one of the few cities that he hadn't visited in his USO tour, and even then, they had been rushed from stage to stage. They'd never really had time to explore.

After a day of stopping to rest and hit the city, he headed on. There's nothing except the wind, the road, and ends up outside Darcy Lewis' doorstep at night. He lifted a hand to knock, when his eyes caught on the time on his watch.

 _Oh._

Yeah, if he were to knock right now, all of his predictions of being perceived as a creep would be fulfilled.

 _Wait._ There was light spilling out the cracks between the shutters and the windows. So _someone_ was up, at least…

His thoughts were cut off when the door opened up, light spilling out behind her. He blinked, his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden influx of light, catching the silhouette. Whoever it was – slim shoulders, about five feet three, _girl_ – had two small hands that reached out and yanked him in by the neck of his T-shirt. He yelped a little from the shock of it, as he was pulled inside.

His eyes had adjusted now and he took in his – attacker? Probably not the right word, seeing as he was coming to her place. _Unwitting host_. She was stunning, he couldn't help but note. Tiny, but stunning.

…which actually might be more literally true than he might wish, because she had some kind of weapon he didn't recognise in one hand and was brandishing it. The motion was definitely meant to be menacing, and there was something wrong with him that he found it attractive.

"Alright, asshole, you have ten seconds. It had _better_ be good, and be grateful I'm giving you that much of a chance in the first place." Her blue eyes were blazing,

He could take her, there was no question about it. But that really would leave an _awful_ first impression. He threw up his hands in surrender instead. "Don't use…whatever the hell that thing is. I'm friendly. Promise," he said. She didn't look particularly convinced, so he hurried on. "I'm a friend of Thor's, actually."

An eyebrow lifted. "And why exactly could _Thor himself_ not make it?"

"He had to escort Loki back to Asgard," Steve said. "He was very worried, though. Insisted that someone who wasn't S.H.I.E.L.D come and check on – what was the phrase? – His beloved Jane and her lightning sister, Darcy."

She looked slightly mollified. Slightly. "OK, well, Thor's friend is a bit of a mouthful. Did he say when he'd be back, blondie?"

He shook his head. "It's Steve. And he mentioned that maybe with something that they'd found in the invasion, they might be able to repair the Bifrøst, so – soonish?"

Darcy Lewis – because it was clearly she – looked a little more mollified.

"Alright. I guess I won't taser you, Steve-friend-of-Thor. Jane's going over her notes, I was just going to make something, because she needs feeding. Do you need feeding?" she asked, one hand going to cover a yawn.

"Where do you keep your pots?" he asked, noting the circles under the young woman's eyes.

 _They've come to your place because Jane Foster and Erik Selvig have each other and they have you, and that's about it. Have you been sleeping, Miss Lewis? If you've been feeding them at 3:00am?_

She cocked her head to one side, lips quirking into a smile. "Are you…seriously offering to cook, Steve-who-I-just-met?"

"Do you like pancakes?"

"OK, Steve, I know we've only just met, but seeing as you're tall, blond, and willing to cook _pancakes_ for a friend of a friend at _three in the damn morning_ , I am ethically obligated to ask–" she finally paused to draw breath.

"Yes?" he asked, slipping the apron over his head, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"Will you marry me?"

He laughed, turning around to grin at her. Fierce, smart, beautiful, caring. Clearly she hadn't slept in a while, but she was still taking things in her stride. And now she was _funny?_

Man, if he didn't have enough emotional garbage to fill a U-haul, he'd at the very least _consider_ it.

"I tend to do dinner with girls before I marry them," he replied. "Go to sleep, Darcy Lewis. Let someone else take care of you and your scientists for once."

Her smile softened from mock-flirtatious to something he couldn't quite identify. She looked…touched?

"Thanks, Steve-who-I-just-met," she said, yawning. "I just might. Wake me when Janie needs to be taken for a walk?"

"It's Rogers. And of course I will," he said.

When she stumbled into the kitchen at noon, rubbing at her eyes and yawning, she did a double-take as she saw him there demolishing his share of the lasagna he'd made for lunch. She was still groggy. She was _not_ dumb.

For a moment, there was horror in her eyes as she asked, "I threatened to taser Captain America?"

He smiled at her. "No, you threatened to taser Steve Rogers."

Comprehension flashed almost instantly in big blue eyes, and then she smirked. "Man, I have got to introduce you to _so much_ pop-culture _._ Did you ever read The Hobbit?"


	6. Bruce

6\. Bruce

"Oh, hey, Steve," Bruce's voice came from the sofa of the common room.

"Sorry!" Steve whispered, stopping in his tracks. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Oh, you didn't. I was meditating, not sleeping," Bruce said, rising and stretching. "But I can understand the confusion."

Steve gestured to the door of the common room. "Guess I should leave you to it, then."

"Nah, I was winding down anyway," Bruce smiled, walking to the attached kitchen. "You couldn't sleep?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Just one of those nights. But why were you meditating at _2:00am?_ "

Bruce hummed, as he filled up a kettle. No, not a kettle. What was it called these days? "Problems with insomnia. You ever been to India, Steve?" He started digging a box out of a cupboard. Steve blinked, his mental search for the right word interrupted as the question registered.

"No. I only got as far as the ETO. I was always curious, though."

"All the more reason for you to try this," Bruce said, pouring the water into the mugs. How did Tony's… _thingy…_ boil water that fast anyway? "Chai, with vanilla and sandalwood. It was the second thing the Hulk and I agreed on."

Steve accepted the offered cup. Thoughtfully, Bruce had selected a mug big enough that Steve could fit his whole hand through the handle. He breathed in the scent. Spicy, sweet. Soothing.

"What was the first?" he asked.

Bruce was silent for a long minute. Steve frowned, then realised. _Ah._

"I'm sorry. What was her name?"

Bruce turned around, his eyes wide. "How did you know _that_ was it?"

Steve gave him a lopsided smile. "I was a tiny, ninety-pound asthmatic artist, with one friend in the world. Spent a lot of my time outside the group. So I got good at observing people. Reading them. Got better when I joined the Army."

Bruce rubbed at his forehead. Steve stifled a sigh. _Way to go, Rogers._

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–" he began. Bruce held up a hand. Steve stopped talking.

"S.H.I.E.L.D gave you a file on me." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"Then you _know_ what her name is."

Actually, he didn't. The file didn't extend that far. But that wasn't the point.

"That's not the same as you telling me," Steve said, taking a long pull of the chai. His eyes widened as he did so _._ It was _really_ good. "Which you don't have to, if you don't want to. But if it helps any–"

Bruce arched an eyebrow. Steve took a deep breath. Sometimes, you had to step forward, even when you were scared to.

"Her name was Peggy Carter. _Is_ , I should say. Agent Carter. Sh was my handler. We weren't engaged, but we had an…understanding." Steve drained the rest of his chai. "Anything more than that during the war would have jeopardised her command. And the world needed her, even more than it needed Captain America." He sighed. "She's still got her mind. But she's ninety-two. We used to talk about going for a dance, in front of everyone else. But it was never about dancing, not by the end. It was a promise of a life together. And…I missed that dance."

His eyes were stinging by the end. A strong hand landed on his shoulder, and squeezed. He leaned into the touch, almost unconsciously. _Manning up be_ damned.

For a long moment, Bruce said nothing. Then:

"Her name is Betty Ross. I love her so much. And her Dad is an _asshole_."

Steve nodded, then raised the cup in a toast. "To our best girls."

"Wherever they may be," Bruce agreed, raising his.


	7. Thor

7\. Thor

"Steven!" Thor greeted him amiably, as he strode into the common room. "Good morrow!"

"For who?" Steve mumbled into the textbook he had planted his face in.

Thor paused, then dropped into the seat next to Steve. "What troubles you, my friend?"

Steve sighed, raising his head. "Commander Hill told me that the WSC had concerns about my acculturation to the 21st century. I have no clue why, I think that should be below their pay grade, honestly. So Hill detailed a S.H.I.E.L.D agent to get some textbooks for me. But…they left in so much stuff that _I already know_. Like the Founding Fathers! I'm not _that_ old, dammit!"

Thor's mouth made an ' _ah'_ of understanding. "I see. My Jane has showed me several magazines where they appear to have classified you and I as–"

"Wait, let me guess," Steve scowled. "Blond, hot muscle?"

Thor's eyebrows shot up, even as he nodded. "Those exact words, as a matter of fact. How did you know?"

"Darcy texted the link to me," Steve said. "I'm pretty sure she just likes driving me up the wall."

Thor nodded. Again. "Perhaps you should do the same to the brethren of the Shield."

Steve blinked. "Come again?"

"It is the kind of idea that my brother would have," Thor said, with a sad smile. "If they believe that you do not know about these 'Founding Fathers', then what else perhaps might they think you ignorant of?"

Steve tipped his head to the side. "That…could actually work," he said, a small smile appearing. "And if you'd be willing to help out, I have a way to make it even better."

Thor leaned forward in his seat. The chair groaned a little under his weight. "I am attending. Continue, good Captain."

Steve outlined his plan.

Thor's eyes lit up.

And that was how the Shockwave alliance was formed.


	8. And One Love of His Life

\+ 1

And One Love of His Life

* * *

(Set between 5 and 6)

* * *

The Avengers scattered after the Battle of New York. Bruce to Stark Tower with Stark, Steve to do some exploring of America and the 21st century alike, and nobody had asked what Clint and Natasha had vanished to do.

A month after the Chitauri invasion, and a whole five weeks into this century, Steve has mastered his J.A.R.V.I.S-programmed cell phone, mostly with J.A.R.V.I.S' holding his hand through the process, as well as basic slang, and the Internet.

(Or, well, some of it. He insists to Darcy he's still not touching social media with a ten-foot pole.)

The flip phone Clint gave him is fairly intuitive, the two times he gives the archer a call. He's still not entirely sure how they managed to get himself, Jane, Selvig and Darcy out of the cells in Wimberley without getting S.H.I.E.L.D. involved, but somehow, they did. He's _very_ sure that if he does know the details, he'll regret wanting to know.

No beer tastes the same, but his polite-but-distant routine still works on most women. With the guys, he definitely has to get a lot more blunt, and just say, _sorry, not interested_.

He's also discovered that this century got some things right. For all that neither bananas nor beer taste the same, Ben and Jerry's is incredible, and the _coffee_. Sweet Mary mother of God, _the coffee_.

Tony chuckles when Steve makes his weekly check-in, and he is unable to _not_ mention the magical coffee confection he'd just bought from a Starbucks. It's sweet enough that his super serum will probably be called upon to heal him from cavities: all chocolate and caramel and whipped cream with some remnant of coffee suffocating under the sugar.

"Capsiclette, when's your ETR?"

"Estimated time of return?" Steve checks, just to be sure. He doesn't _think_ that Tony's talking about repairs, but the guy _is_ an engineer.

(There's a _reason_ for the saying about shooting the engineer, that's all Steve's saying. Except he personally would amend it to, _when it comes to a project, there comes a time when you have to shoot the Stark_.)

"No, estimated time of when you're getting your head repaired? _Yes,_ return."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Tin Man, I didn't know you cared," he teased. "Maybe about a day or two? I dunno. There's someone I've got to visit in D.C first."

 _Peggy._

The loss still hurts. He's read the file. She'd lived and loved again and married and had kids. And he's glad that she did and furious at God for taking that from him, the life that he and she should have built together, should have _had_. He brings it up at confession one time, although being careful to couch it in vague terms. The priest is gentle as he tells him, it's alright to be mad, it's alright to hurt, and wry as he mentions that if Steve wants Biblical precedent for pouring out anger to God, all he need do is consult the Psalms.

(The philosophy is yet another thing that's so damn different to what he's accustomed that Steve does a double-take right there in the confessional.)

But if there's one thing that accomplished, it's making him realise that he needs to gather his meagre courage and visit her. See her again.

He stands at the door of the nursing home now, raising a hand to knock.

"Come in," the voice calls, still strong and clear.

His hands are trembling as he pushes the door open.

She's sitting up in her bed, glasses on her face, a book in hand. She's rereading _A Study in Scarlet_ , and he sucks in a breath, as yet another memory – she and him trading lines as he typed up a mission report on the cranky typewriter back at base – resurfaces to the top of his mind.

She looks up curiously, then her eyes widen.

"Hi, Peggy," he says. Banal, but it was the only thing he can say, as their eyes meet.

 _Her eyes._

Surrounded by wrinkles, lines of worry and laughter, weariness and stress and delight, her years painted on the canvas of her face. But still bright, clear; shining with intelligence and filled with incredulity, wide-eyed hope and wonder.

"Steve?" she whispers, softly, clearly not quite able to believe it.

He crosses the room to her side, feeling like he had immediately post-serum – _like a walrus in a china shop,_ they had both agreed – far too big and awkward and stumbling. She frowns, one hand going to pinch her arm. He offers his own instead, and she pinches, still hard enough to make him yelp.

Her eyes widen. "It _is_ you," she says. Her tone still wondering, awed. "Nicholas called, but I hardly dared–"

 _Nicholas?_ Fury had mentioned that Peggy had personally recruited him, but to the point of first names?

"Yeah," he manages, his voice thick. "It's me, Pegs."

There's a true smile from her, at last, and his breath catches in his throat. _Her smile hasn't changed a bit either._

She shifts further to the side on the bed, and pats it. He toes off his boots, slips onto the bed beside her, and wraps an arm around her shoulders, slim and frail where they'd once been strong and straight.

"Darling," she mumbles into his jacket. "I have _so much_ to tell you."

About S.H.I.E.L.D. About life after he crashed into the Valkyrie. And is it odd that he feels like this is how it could have been? Just a very, very, _very_ long day, with her coming home to him from the office and recounting all the misadventures?

He looks down at her, presses a kiss to her soft, white hair, and meets her eyes.

"Leave nothing out," he tells her. She nods, takes a deep breath, and begins.

The history of the past sixty-seven years according to Peggy Carter is, as he'd known it would be, a hell of a lot more interesting than Wikipedia, and a joy to hear. He laughs until he cries when she mentions shoving Howard in the Thames on V.E. Day. He finds himself breathing prayers of thanks for the way the Howlies, and Jarvis and Howard looked after 's heartbreaking, at points, and they wipe each other's tears away. There are a couple of points where, age difference be _damned_ , he's so filled again with that familiar mixture of admiration, awe and love that he cuts her off mid-sentence, catching her lips with his. She hesitates when she reaches 1950, but when he gently squeezes her hand with his, she tells him about meeting her husband, and of her children.

And the lesson she wants him to take from it is obvious: _grieve, my darling, but don't linger too much. Remember the past. Don't set up camp there. Remember, the food was terrible, and polio was awful._

Naturally, he only picks up on it because she spells it out. Enquiring, with an arched eyebrow and a hint of mischief in her voice, if she needs to brain him with her book to emphasise the point.

"Hey, my skull's not that thick!" he protests, feeling the need to defend his honour.

Peggy snorts. "The incident with Private Lorraine indicates otherwise."

"When it comes to things _other_ than women," he amends, and she assents to this.

Six hours later, when her voice is hoarse, and they've resorted to typing their exchanges on Peggy's tablet, the nurses threaten to frogmarch him out of the room. He shrugs, and looks at her, because Peggy Carter might say she's retired. However, as far as he's concerned, he will answer to Peggy Carter until the end of her days. She's more than just his former handler. She's _Peggy_.

She smiles at him, reading him like a book. Just like she always has.

"Next Saturday, Steve," she types, with a grin. "Don't you dare be late."

He smiles back at her, his heart feeling lighter than it has in seventy years.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he taps back.

The drive from New York to D.C. is nice, anyway.


End file.
